Lips Close to Mine (Wherever You Go)

by Bielman, Robin

  “No.”

  “So you’ll never know if I heed your advice or not.”

  I send him a dirty look.

  “She was very happy to see me. Said she has fond memories of you and me in the buff. Then she said we should get naked again.”

  “Jesus.” I cringe and shake my shoulders. “My mother has no filter sometimes.” I push the image of Levi naked out of my head. Not easy with him right next to me.

  “I’m messing with you.” He bumps my knee with his. “She didn’t say that.”

  “Ass.” I push him in the arm. He doesn’t budge.

  “She did say she’s ecstatic we’re dating, and how happy she is I’m your date for your cousin’s wedding.”

  “Shit.” Of course my mom would jump to a conclusion like that after what I told her. “Why didn’t you correct her?”

  “It didn’t seem like the right thing to do.”

  “The right thing to do? You lied to her!”

  “No, I just didn’t correct her. For all I knew, you’d told her about us.”

  “There is no us!” He is seriously grating on my nerves. I don’t anger easily, but Levi Pierce presses all my hot buttons.

  “There’s an us now, Ham.”

  “No. There isn’t. And you are not my date for the wedding. We are not dating. Not now. Not ever.” Taking Levi to the wedding is a dangerous idea, so no way is it happening. I have a clear picture of my future, and it does not include a relationship. I plan to make my own way, play by my own rules, and be wildly successful all by myself.

  Levi shrugs and says nothing.

  I hate that I wonder what he’s thinking.

  Harper’s Positivity Journal

  August 9th

  The best things in life are FREE!

  1. Swimming

  2. Roasting marshmallows with Teague (we’ve got enough bags to survive a zombie apocalypse)

  3. Walking along the beach

  4. Visiting the animal shelter and stopping at each enclosure for petting

  5. Breathing in the smell of chlorine and sunscreen

  6. Collecting sea glass

  7. Reading

  8. Taking a nap!

  9. Texting my brothers in emoticons (they hate that)

  10. Binge-watching Friends

  11. Volunteering

  12. Thinking about Levi

  Chapter Four

  Levi

  I rub at my eyes and stare unfocused at the email twisting my stomach into knots. I’ve been accepted into a two-day seminar with Leo Gaines. The event had slipped my mind, given I applied months ago and hadn’t heard anything. The class is limited to ten, the opportunity may never come around again, and the only way I can attend is if I bail on my brother-in-law. Not that I would bail on him. I’d find another cameraman to take my place, but this still causes two problems. One, Brad is already stressed out and I hate to add to it. Plus, he’s always had my back. And two, it puts me out of touch with Harper.

  Weirdly, when I showed up at MASF the other morning, I was seriously thinking about telling Brad I’d find someone else for him. I know nothing about shooting PSAs. My skills have been honed on music videos, short films, and television programs, and I’m concerned about capturing the look and feel he has in mind.

  Then I saw Harper sitting at the conference table. Beautiful, surprised, irritated, a little breathless. And I stuck with the job. This makes me a total ass, I know, but you don’t live with Elliot. He’s decided Operation Harper is the best thing since cronuts. And since I didn’t seal the deal last weekend, he’s convinced he’s got the bet won. Now my pride is rearing its ugly head.

  But more than that, I want to be with her. I want to make her feel so good she forgets what day it is, what frustrates and pains her. Because that’s what she did for me. For one night, I completely forgot about everything and lived in the moment with the hottest, funniest, most intuitive girl I’ve ever met.

  I should tell her. I should come right out and tell her I don’t want to date her, either. I just want to have sex. But I don’t trust her not to take that information and somehow use it against me.

  She’s not Kayla, man.

  She’s also not a random girl.

  Whenever I’m around her, I fall into easy friendliness. A byproduct of our night together for sure, but also of our bond as kids, I think. Someone I was close to as a child can’t be an awful person like my ex.

  I rub the bridge of my nose and slip my eyeglasses back on. The seminar is for two Saturdays. Twelve full hours with my favorite director. Twelve hours to talk about the craft of filmmaking and be inside his head. To make a connection that has the potential to advance my career in staggering ways.

  People go a lifetime without spending one minute with their idol.

  Fuck.

  An RSVP is required by tomorrow to confirm my spot. The seminar starts next week, so I could shoot this weekend with Brad and Harper and have plenty of time to find a replacement.

  A ping alerts me to a new email. It’s from Brad. I open it. He’s grateful and happy to have my help with the PSAs. The production schedule is attached, and I’ve set his mind at ease. He trusts me. He knows he can count on me.

  It takes me all of two seconds to click back to my invite and respond so I can stop dwelling on it. Family always comes first. Without them, I’d still be under Kayla’s dark cloud. My parents, happily married for thirty-five years, are always my biggest supporters. My sisters and their husbands, most especially Brad, are there for me 24/7. I’m a son, brother, brother-in-law, uncle, and friend, and I’m grateful for all of it.

  “You are not going to believe what happened tonight,” Elliot calls out. He’s walked into the house and said those words at least a dozen times in the last year alone. He rounds the corner into the kitchen with a satiated smile on his face, which tells me a good meal and a couple of after-work drinks are part of what happened. He works his ass off in corporate finance, and the stories he’s shared about after-hours are straight-up House of Lies.

  “Michaela, the hot as hell HR supervisor visiting from New York I told you about?” He pulls off his loosened tie as he sits at the table across from me. “She took off her shirt and had me eat sushi off her stomach. Laid herself right out on the table and told me to go for it. So I did.”

  “You and everyone else?”

  He leans back in his chair, clasps his hands behind his head. “Just me.”

  I take my glasses off and put them on the table beside my computer. “Why aren’t you at her hotel, then?”

  “You think I didn’t close the deal?”

  My roommate and best friend has the worst poker face ever. “She’s on her way here? Need me to set a little mood lighting for you?” I tease.

  “I got it, Romeo. You just worry about yourself.”

  “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah?” He looks around the kitchen. “I don’t see a gorgeous brunette hiding anywhere.”

  I think about the highlights in Harper’s dark hair, the summer sun having woven lighter streaks through the soft strands. Then I think about Elliot’s description, and I want to claim her as mine in this weird competition between us.

  “You can call off the bet,” Elliot adds. “Take your defeat and pay up.” He says this lightly, but he’s got a fucking scorecard with our bets on it, and another win for me will bring us to a tie. Christ, we’re childish douchebags sometimes. But this bet isn’t going to hurt anyone. Quite the contrary, with the plans I have for Miss McKinney. So I feel okay about winning this one.

  “The bet’s still on,” I say.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” I’ve got plenty of time left to charm the pants off her.

  “Good luck, then.”

  I smile. I don’t need luck.

  “I wonder where—” The doorbell rings, and Elliot explodes out of his chair. “That’ll be for me.” He swaggers out of the kitchen without a glance back. I listen as he greets Michaela, she gi
ggles, and they make their way to his bedroom. He’s been on an unusual binge of hookups lately, probably because work leaves him little time for a relationship.

  Smart man. Relationships will ruin you.

  Even knowing this, my mind charges right back to Harper. To relieve some of the contemplations I can’t seem to get rid of, I grab a piece of plain white paper out of the printer, a pen, and write her a letter I have no intention of sending.

  August 10th

  Dear Harper,

  Since I have no plans to actually tell you all the things I’m feeling, writing this seems like a good idea. Believe it or not, it’s the first handwritten letter I’ve ever written to a girl. Wait. I take that back. It’s the second, right? I think I remember giving you a note when we were five and we got different teachers for kindergarten. It went something like, C U LATR HAM, and included a picture of a dog because I knew you liked them.

  I’ll spare you any drawings this time, but the sentiment is still the same. I want to see you later. I get that you don’t want to date, and I’m cool with that. I don’t, either. But I think we could be friends with benefits. Cliché, I know, but the fact is our best friends are dating, so we’ll be around each other. The more important fact is we’re incredible in bed together. Don’t deny it. And please don’t deny me the pleasure of your naked body a second time. Maybe a third or a fourth. I’ll let you decide the number, just give me one more, at least.

  The truth is, I think about you all the time. I like you. And I’m pretty sure you like me, too, even though you’re unwilling to admit it.

  So let’s not overthink it. I’d like to have your beautiful, sexy, responsive body underneath mine. Please say yes.

  Sincerely,

  Levi

  PS Your mom loves me so that should count for something. Unless you count that against me, then forget I mentioned it.

  Chapter Five

  Harper

  I jinxed myself, and it’s all Pants Charming’s fault.

  I blow my nose for the hundredth time, then toss the tissue into the small, overfilled wastebasket Teague left beside the couch. I woke up this morning with the summer cold from hell and have spent the entire day on the couch watching Netflix. I can’t remember the last time I took a sick day, but I have to be well for tomorrow. I’m even more miserable at the thought of telling Brad I’m in no shape to be on camera.

  On the coffee table, next to my feet, are cold medicine, ibuprofen, cherry-flavored throat lozenges, a bottle of water, a bottle of orange juice, and my PSA scripts. I only got them this morning, but a killer headache has prevented me from concentrating on them for longer than a minute. I close my eyes and try to relax the tense muscles in my forehead. There isn’t a lot of copy to memorize, and it’s information I already know, but there’s a rhythm and timing to it that I have to practice.

  Rest and fluids will make me better, Teague said in her don’t-argue-with-me voice this morning and again a little while ago. She tried to stay home with me tonight, but I insisted she go out for Elliot’s birthday and have fun. The misery I’m feeling does not need or want company.

  When an incoming text sounds on my phone, I pull my arm out from under the blanket and pick it up. It’s Teague. I’m having soup delivered. Be nice and eat it. XOXO

  I should have known she wouldn’t leave me alone. I am a little hungry, so I’ll be nice and do as she asks. Especially if it’s chicken soup from Nate ’n Al’s. I pick up the jar of Vaseline and put some under my raw, red nose, then settle back into the couch for a quick nap before my dinner arrives. More than anything, my worries about tomorrow have drained the energy from me.

  I’ve just dozed off when there’s a loud knock on the door. I start to get up, but the door opens, and I hear, “Hey, Harper, don’t get up. It’s just me.”

  Me. The “me” with the too-tempting voice that immediately causes tingles in places I don’t want them.

  I’m going to kill my roommate. No, not kill her. Torture her. What in the world was she thinking sending him to deliver my soup? I slump back into the couch pillows.

  The door clicks shut.

  “Leave it on the table, and you can go,” I say. I hope he heard me. I can’t talk very loud, and my back is to him.

  Of course he doesn’t listen. Levi rounds the couch, soup bag in hand. I feel his eyes on me, so I look up. Why, oh why, does he have to be so attractive? He smiles. I frown.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hello,” I croak, giving him his greeting in hopes he’ll put down my food and go. This is obviously what Teague meant by be nice.

  “I come in peace with your favorite soup.” He steps around the coffee table and sits next to me, pulling the jar of Vaseline out from underneath him. Oh, right. I look like a hot, shiny mess. Great.

  Unfortunately, he just looks unfairly hot in ripped light blue jeans and an ivory button-down with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. I tear my gaze away from the forearm eye-candy.

  “How did I get so lucky?” My grumble turns into a coughing fit.

  Levi hands me the bottle of water. After a few sips, I’m better. Sort of. I’m starting to think Levi might kill me with kindness. “Teague was going to leave the bar and bring it to you, but I told her I’d do it.”

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “The blonde at the bar would agree with you.”

  He left someone interested in him to come see me? Why? And why does the thought of him with another girl bother me? I grab the bag of soup out of his hands. “Mission accomplished, so you can go back to Blondie now.”

  “It’s tempting, but I came here for a reason.”

  “To torture me?”

  “There is that.” He takes the paper bag back and lifts the container of soup out. I watch him unwrap the plastic around the carton, remove the lid, and place the white plastic spoon inside.

  “Are you going to blow on it for me, too?” I ask with sarcasm.

  “I’d rather watch you do that.” He passes me the soup as his eyes dip to my mouth. My scoff immediately vanishes, and I shiver at his blatant interest. I know from experience he likes to watch. He knows from experience I like to be watched.

  I drop my gaze to the soup, ignoring the sparks of attraction that always detonate when we’re near each other. “What are you doing here, Levi?”

  He turns his whole body so he faces me, one leg tucked under the other, which shouldn’t be unnerving, but it is. I concentrate on ignoring his easygoing position in order to take my first bite of chicken noodle yumminess.

  “When Teague told me you were sick, I figured you’d be worried about the shoot tomorrow.”

  “I’m not,” I lie. “I’ll be fine in the morning.” I hope. I hope. I hope.

  “Whether you are or not, I wanted to tell you I’ve seen the production schedule and thought you might feel better knowing we can shoot around you tomorrow.”

  I drop the spoon in my soup. “Shoot without me?”

  “Brad wants a lot of footage to use later, too, and some of that is just with the kids.”

  I get that. I do. But several of the kids participating are my students, and I guess I feel protective of them. I don’t want them in the water without me, even though I recruited all good swimmers. They’re still young. And accidents can happen and—

  “It’s okay,” Levi says. He takes the soup from me and puts it on the coffee table.

  My hands are shaking. Fuck.

  “You’re still the spokesperson.” He catches my hand before I tuck it under the blanket and laces our fingers together. “No worries there.”

  I should yank my hand free, I really should, but I don’t because, even though I don’t want it to, it feels nice inside his. No one has held my hand in a really long time. And the truth is, I am worried. I don’t understand why it’s okay for me to do the PSAs, but not get further commitment about the ambassador job.

  “Brad is really happy to have you on board. I didn’t know he coached you.”


  “For two years.”

  “You won a national and world championship with him.”

  I was the underdog both times, and winning made me feel invincible. This isn’t a conversation I want to have, though. I don’t reminisce. And I don’t deserve any kind of reverence. “Brad talks too much.”

  “He also told me the reason he’s interested in you for this job is that you know firsthand what it’s like to lose someone to drowning.”

  My world tilts off its axis. There’s always this underlying anticipation of more happening between Levi and me, but now that he knows about Joe, I’m angry, scared, and ashamed all over again. Levi’s sympathetic eyes don’t help. I can’t allow myself his comfort. If I do, I risk getting too attached.

  I yank my hand free and get to my feet. The blanket falls to the floor. “It’s time for you to go.”

  Instead of standing to leave, he checks me out. His gaze slides down my body, then back up, and I’m furious at myself for liking the attention. I forgot I’m wearing my tiny, gray cotton boy-short panties and a white lace cami that barely reaches my belly button, so I can’t blame Levi for his delayed response. A guy sees a girl in her underwear, and he has to pause. His eyes linger on my pierced navel, then on my chest long enough to make my nipples harden before he comes back to rest on what I hope is my angry face. My head and nose are so congested it’s hard to express myself properly.

  “You done?” I ask.

  “Not even close.” He says this like it’s a foregone conclusion, and his light brown eyes stay glued to mine as he stands. “But you should finish eating and get some rest.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” I walk to the door and open it, ready to usher him out as quickly as possible.

  When he reaches my side, he stops. “I know what it feels like to lose someone.”

  My mouth opens, but no words come out.

  “Not the same way,” he clarifies, “but there’s some fucked-up shit in my past I pretend isn’t there, too. If you ever want to talk about—”